Baldwin & Lox

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A large man in a slate jumpsuit stood at the intersection of 18th and Irving Place.  He was devouring a bagel and lox.  I watched him from the opposite corner.  We were both waiting to cross.  

He was at least six feet tall and his gut hung in the jumpsuit like a bowling ball in a hammock.  His hair was black and grey and untended.  He looked to be in his fifties.   

He tore into the bagel like a hyena into a wildebeest.  Clamped his jaw, shook his head back and forth and back and forth.  Flashed the whites of his eyes.  

The crosswalk signaled us to proceed.  He stepped off the curb with his eyes on the bagel.  I stepped off the curb with my eyes on him.  At once fascinated and disgusted and jealous.   

We passed one another.  He pulled his eyes from the bagel to glare at me.  Cream cheese was smeared around his mouth like rabid foam.  My heart stopped and skipped and I knew that I knew him.  

Alec Baldwin.  

Alec Baldwin furrowed his brow and stared me down.  Like a bouncer ready to punch.  Rubber-necked to keep his eyes on me until he got to the opposite curb.  Then he tossed the last of the bagel into his maw.  Wiped his chin with his sleeve.

I watched him storm south on Irving Place until he disappeared in the fray.  A car honked and I got off the road.  

I bought an everything bagel with lox and went back to work. 

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